July 15, 2004

In the aftermath of last weekend's party for my mom's retirement, some areas are more tidy than others. I hadn't realized that some of the food trash ended up in the waste can on the sunporch. I was out dredging through my tool bucket looking for a narrow hand shovel to transplant some salvia for the front porch (bought at bargain prices at the nursery's open house on Sunday.)

I paused for a moment because something else was making noise on the porch... as sort of shuffling, plastic noise. I looked to the door way to find the cats were still in the house, then went looking. Sure enough, in the trash, still abundantly loaded with food, was a very scared looking vole. Unlike mice, which can jump like gangbusters, this guy could only jump a bit up toward the lip of the can. Who knows how long he's been in there.

And I think he came into the house because he'd been injured. In the pictures you can see where something's done a number on his fur.

I scared him half to death taking pictures, then let him loose out by the compost pile. This may mean that he will be a recurring visitor. We will see.

July 04, 2004

We celebrate our independence, and collectively become a nation of scofflaws.

Michigan allows very little in the way of fireworks. Sparklers and smokebombs, and that's about it. The view from my porch tonight takes in about a dozen dazzling displays, every one of them illegal. My neighbor behind me is running through a collection of ground displays, fountains and screamers and the occasional low rise burst. The neighbor down the street has a bunch of small fireworks, rising amidst the trees to flare into bright chrysanthemums and lively streamers. Over on the lake the folks are competing to see who can out impress the others - there are big guns out there, with the boom and flash of one large rocket after another. Some years we can see these over the trees, but this year they are lower, and out of my sight.

It has rained intermitantly all day today, thunderous showers that took out the power while I was shopping at Lowe's for paint supplies. Now, late in the evening, the air is cool and mild, and the mosquitos are few. Perhaps the rain removed some of their population. For all their annoying persistance, they really are fragile little things.

As I cast my eyes from one display to another, the fireflies put on their own show in my yard. They fly high and low, small bursts of lemon light proclaiming their presence. And as I turn to come in, tired after a day of painting, a sudden bright flash appears overhead, streaming quickly out of sight. Catch a falling star.